


A Multitool, A Toy Robot, A Candy Cane, and A Notepad

by FangirlAnxiety101



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Gabriel, Gabriel (Supernatural) is a Little Shit, I Tried, I'm Bad At Titles, M/M, Shameless Smut, Some Humor, Top Sam Winchester, but also fluff, candy cane shanks?, i used a random item generator, toy robots are creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 19:36:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14027286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangirlAnxiety101/pseuds/FangirlAnxiety101
Summary: He breathes through his nose slowly, trying to catch his train of thought. Suddenly, there’s an echo. It’s faint, and it doesn’t sound like a voice, but Sam thinks it best to check anyway.Walking down the hallway to his right, he finds where the noise was coming from; A toy robot, right in the middle of the hallway. Its large, brightly lit eyes stare at him, adding to the uneasy feeling already running rampant in his stomach.





	A Multitool, A Toy Robot, A Candy Cane, and A Notepad

**Author's Note:**

> so i said i would write a smutty janitor!gabriel fic.  
> well, here ya go.  
> its not exactly what i promised, but i tried. Sabriel smut is Sabriel smut, right?  
> Also i couldn't think of what i wanted the actual plot to be, so i used a random item generator, thus the weird title and random items.  
> the tense in this fic is a bit different then what I usually do, so tell me what you think!

He is back in front of Crawford Hall.

Which is weird in itself, because he knows for a fact that they had hauled ass out of there before anyone could find the body of Gab- of the trickster.

_It was one night, Sam. You were angry at Dean. Get over it._ He chastises himself, walking up the steps situated in front of the large college building. It’s a grand building, at least in comparison to the town that it is located in. It is clearly an older structure, the dark grey bricks making up its exterior weeping mildew in some places, the many windows lining its front framed by soft gold crosshatching designs that appear antique. The most stunning feature, in Sam’s opinion, is its pentagonal stained-glass window, right above the main entrance. It’s extremely detailed, and reminds him somewhat of a church window. However, the things that had recently gone down in the building were anything but holy.

And he isn’t just thinking about the multiple murders, either.

_“Harder,” Gabe had panted, head tilted upwards due to the tight grip on his hair from behind. Sam growled softly, his hips snapping forward in an almost punishing manner as he obliged. Gabe whined softly, nails scraping down the dead professor’s desk._

_While Sam would have thought of the situation as taboo at any other given time, he couldn’t care less who had died in the room at that moment. He had just had a falling out with Dean, and refused to go back to the hotel room so soon after storming out. He’d never meant for this to happen, but the janitor was just so damn funny and attractive, Sam couldn’t resist. One thing led to another and Gabe, as he had introduced himself to Sam, had ended up begging to be bent over and fucked against the desk._

_With a plea worded like that, how could he refuse?_

_He shuddered, using his free hand to grab the janitor’s hip tightly, knowing it would leave bruises later. He watched as Gabe turned his head, heated skin pressing against the cool wooden desk. He unconsciously tightened his hold on the shorter man’s hair, but didn’t pull this time, wanting to see his expression as he came._

Sam snaps out of the memory as he realizes he is now standing right in front of the glass doors leading into the building. It’s dark inside, and Sam knows without a doubt that the place is already locked up. He reaches into his pocket, finding a multitool instead of his usual lock picking tools. He swears silently, looking around before admitting defeat, pulling out each tool to see what he can use.

He is lucky enough to find a small, cylindrical piece of metal he can use on the third tool he pulls out. He proceeds to pick the lock, his senses now on high alert. He still isn’t sure what this is - a dream? Another trick? Maybe he is finally losing his mind.

_Right,_ he snorts in amusement, _I think I lost that long ago._

The door opens with a loud click, and Sam sighs in relief, quickly stepping through and pulling the door shut once more. Real or not, he was going to figure out _why_ this place, and why _now_.

Walking forward, he strains his ears, listening for any movement. There is none. He breathes through his nose slowly, trying to catch his train of thought. Suddenly, there’s an echo. It’s faint, and it doesn’t sound like a voice, but Sam thinks it’s best to check anyway.

Walking down the hallway to his right, he finds where the noise was coming from. A toy robot, right in the middle of the hallway. Its large, brightly lit eyes stare at him, adding to the uneasy feeling already running rampant in his stomach. It is lit up, but not moving. He stares at it for another moment, debating whether he actually wants to get any closer to the possessed-acting toy. He jumps as it starts moving once more, the tinny sound effects echoing down the hallway, the thing that had alerted Sam of it presence in the first place.

He huffs, scolding himself silently for being a wuss. He walks forward slowly, studying it. He is just about to crouch down to turn it off when a hand grabs his left arm. It takes all his willpower not to automatically scream in fear as it whips him sideways, almost too fast for him to process. He hears a slam, and when he looks up again to get his bearings, he realizes it was the door to the supply closet he had just been standing by.

The one he was now currently inside.

With the trickster.

He yelps in surprise, swearing as he hits his head on the metal rack standing behind him as he scrambles to stand up. He glares at the shorter man, annoyance rising evermore at the trickster’s bored expression. He is sucking on a candy cane languidly, and Sam takes his anger and physical pain out on him in the most random and petulant way possible;

“It’s not even Christmas!” he fumes, crossing his arms, not caring in the slightest if he looks like a grumpy 6-year-old at this point. The trickster snorts in amusement, that damn adorable smirk from their first meeting lighting up his features. Sam bites the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his anger present.

“Your point?” he continues to smirk, popping the sticky treat back in his mouth, pink tongue darting out to wrap around it. Sam swallows thickly, trying to think of things to combat the tingling in his groin.

“What do you want?” he insists, trying not to think of their previous encounters. The pseudo-janitor replies by slowly pulling the spit-slick candy cane out of his mouth, hungry eyes never leaving Sam’s. he pulls it out all the way, turns it around, and points the sharpened end at Sam, almost touching the hunter’s shirt with the end of it. He licks his lips at the taller man, and with that, Sam loses what little self-control he has left.

He grabs the smaller man by the collar, pulling him into a bruising kiss. The trickster whines in complaint as Sam knocks the candy cane out of his hand, but it quickly morphs into a groan as Sam dips his tongue into the minty sweetness that is Gabe’s mouth. He all but slams the trickster into the wall, the only one that doesn’t have wire shelving against it. He is merciless, grinding his hips forward into the janitor’s stomach as he nips his bottom lip, savoring the noise it gets him.

“Wait,” Gabe breathes out, pulling away. Sam does so, if only out of confusion. He pants, staring down at the shorter man hungrily. He gets a mischievous grin in response, as he gently pushes Sam backwards so he can crouch down. This gets him a low growl from the man standing above him. Gabe simply looks up, wordlessly unzipping Sam’s pants, pulling the hunter’s member out of its confines.

“Fuck.” Sam hisses, shaking with barely-there restraint as Gabe takes him in one fell swoop, the salty tip touching the back of his throat, nose buried in Sam’s wiry pubic hair. He looks up at Sam with a sort of innocence that should NOT be possible for someone who just deep throated his dick.

He bobs his head, swallowing around the tip every couple seconds. Sam’s a shivering mess, not even sure as to how he is still standing against the intensity of the trickster’s warm mouth. He can feel the slight tingling, the stickiness left over from the trickster’s earlier treat. His large hands are entwined in honey blonde hair, his hips moving ever so slightly at each pass.

“Don’t.” he growls as the shorter man begins palming himself through the slate blue fabric he is wearing. He shudders in response, a muffled moan of protest leaving his mouth before he deep throats Sam once more, a silent plea of sorts. He lays his hands on his thighs, quickly clenching them into fists as he obeys.

“Good.” The hunter rumbles, earning a small wanton whimper at the praise. He uses one large hand to hold the janitor’s head in place as he pumps his hips slowly. The minute tightening each time he hits the back of the trickster’s throat has him hanging on by mere threads. While he is more than willing to slam into him mercilessly, to watch as he is forced to swallow every last drop, Sam has other plans for him.

He pulls out, watching for a moment as Gabe gasps for air that he probably doesn’t truly need. He hauls him up, pressing their foreheads together.

“Clothes off. Now.” He commands, shivering at the friction his cock finds against the trickster’s current clothing choice. With a snap, the other man is entirely naked, and Sam rips his own shirt off before lifting Gabe up, a pleased rumble escaping him as the shorter man catches on, wrapping his legs around the hunter’s middle.

“Don’t need it.” Gabe pants, grinding his own hardened member against the Sam’s bare torso. It takes Sam a moment to realize the trickster has read his mind, that he means he doesn’t need lube. He debates asking if he’s sure, but Sam is too impatient, still too ANGRY that the other man had lied about his identity. If he says he doesn’t need it, then so be it.

“Sam…” Gabe groans, shuddering as the hunter’s cock is sheathed inside of him, little by little. When Sam is sure he can move without losing control, he slams in as hard as he can, intent on making the man currently clinging onto him into a shivering, incoherent mess.

And he does just that. By the time Sam can barely hang on any longer, Gabe has already come twice, and is babbling almost incoherently, nails leaving red trails down the hunter’s heated, muscular back. His head is thrown back, courtesy of Sam’s tight grip in his hair once more, his face a mask of pure beauty and ecstasy.

“Fuck, FUCK, Sam, please, can’t…” he wails, every muscle in his body tensing as he gets ready for a third release. Sam just snarls, reaching between their bodies with his free hand to grab the other man’s throbbing length, dragging his slick, calloused hand along it roughly, knowing the pain won’t make a difference to the trickster, not when he is already this far gone.

“ah, fuck, SAM!” he shouts in warning, nails digging into the taller man’s neck hard enough to leave indents.

“Come for me, NOW.” He growls, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the trickster’s sweat slicked shoulder. Gabe does so without hesitation, something akin to a relieved sob leaving his throat as he rides out his final orgasm. The clenching of his walls is too good for Sam to resist a third time and, with one last balls-deep thrust, he lets go as well, groaning loudly as he empties himself into the other man.

Once Sam has come down from his high, he can tell the trickster is still panting, his legs miraculously still tightly wrapped around the hunter. He lifts his head, reveling in the peaceful, sated look on the shorter man’s face, eyes closed as he attempts to regain his composure.

But Sam doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before. He wants to stay, to throw himself into the pleasure, to forget his responsibilities until he can’t even remember them to begin with.

And he wants to do it all with this sarcastic, crude, gold-eyed, honey-haired, NOT human being.

“whoa there, Sammy,” he chuckles, responding to the thoughts the hunter is all but broadcasting as he licks a stripe up the trickster’s neck, biting down gently. “I’m not exactly…. relationship material.”

“Then why did you bring me back here?” he mumbles, moving up to nip at an earlobe. he basks in the shiver he gets in response.

“I didn’t, kiddo.” He all but whispers. Sam pulls away, looking at the trickster in confusion. He swears he can see a twinge of sadness in his eyes, but it’s gone as soon as Sam sees it. He watches as the trademark smirk forms on his face once more and, before Sam can stop him, he raises a single hand, snapping his fingers.

Sam wakes up, gasping for breath. He looks around quickly, realizing he is back in the hotel room he and Dean had decided to stay in one more night before hightailing it out of there. While they usually wouldn’t have done so, Sam had found a way to convince Dean to stay, saying that there were no ties to them, and it would look suspicious if they did leave immediately. Dean had grudgingly agreed, although he had been eyeing Sam suspiciously a few times before retiring for the night.

Sam sighs, propping himself up on his elbows. As he does so, he freezes, hearing the muffled crinkling of paper. He lifts his elbow, reaching under his pillow.

A notepad, the shade of it the same unique pale gold of the window frames back at Crawford, is in his hand. The front page has a small note written on it.

Sam stares at it for a moment, trying to process what he is reading, the surprisingly delicate handwriting winking up at him from the otherwise pristine page;

_You can’t take the trick out of the trickster, kiddo._

_p.s. I wish I was relationship material, sometimes._

_Until next time, Sam :)_

He looks over at Dean, who is still fast asleep. Moving carefully so as not to wake him, Sam grabs a shirt and his shoes, sneaking out of the motel room door, the single piece of paper folded in his pocket.

Crawford is only 4 blocks away.

It couldn’t hurt to check, right?

**Author's Note:**

> Before any of you ask; Yes, I really did look up the site they filmed it at, and I really did somehow tie the glass window to Gabriel's past and lineage (b/c I'm a sap like that). Sue me, I'm nothing if not thorough.  
> The smut in the beginning wasn't planned, it just kind of...happened. but it fits, sooo.
> 
> I kind of mixed my own head canon into this, saying that Sam had already slept with the trickster before, when he had been pissed at Dean for messing up his computer. This is why Sam says they should talk to the trickster first in Changing Channels, except that Gabe is pissed off at them for starting the apocalypse and thus, resuming the brotherly fighting he had ran away from in the first place. my poor child :(
> 
> As always, kudos and comments make my day, so don't be shy! I love y'all!


End file.
